


Just Like We’re Seventeen Again

by gray_autumn_sky



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, LoveFromOQ2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_autumn_sky/pseuds/gray_autumn_sky
Summary: Robin and Regina were the best of friends all through school, but part ways once they go off to college. 20 years later, they meet again at their high school reunion, an event neither wanted to go to.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	Just Like We’re Seventeen Again

Regina Mills never had any intention of attending her twenty-year class reunion—after all, she hadn't attended the first or the fifth, she'd ignored an invitation to the tenth, and by the time her class' fifteen-year reunion rolled around, she'd lost contact with anyone who might think to invite her.

That was how she wanted it—she was more than content to leave high school in her past. And yet here she was, standing in front of the gymnasium, staring down at a table covered in a plastic cloth, looking for a tag with her name on it. In some ways, that seemed fitting—after all, the last few years had pushed her in directions she never thought she'd be going in, forcing her into situations she'd never imagined she'd be in.

It'd started with what felt like a string of bad luck—a job she loved eliminated, followed by a relatively fruitless job search that culminated with a "guaranteed" job she'd been a "shoe-in" for falling though due to a lack of funding.

Somewhere in the midst of that, she'd found out from a friend of a distant relative that her mother—a woman she'd hadn't spoken to since she was nineteen—had passed away. To say her feelings about it were complicated would be an understatement—and to say that her mother's death hadn't somehow unearthed every single insecurity she'd buried long ago would be a laughable lie.

And as she and her therapist were working through all of that, her marriage had come to an abrupt end.

That had been the final straw, and no sooner than she filed for divorce, she'd packed up her then-ten-year old son and moved back to her hometown to collect herself and regroup.

It was supposed to be temporary.

But a year later, she was still there—and she found herself spending her evenings scrolling through job postings as her father and son worked at their latest 5,000 piece puzzle.

There were times she didn't mind it, or at the very least she could find value in it—after all, she's always been a daddy's girl and she was glad that Henry got the chance to bond with his grandfather. Yet more times than not, she felt just as trapped as she'd felt in her teenage years—so truly, it was fitting that she found herself here, of all places.

Finally, she locates her nametag, awkwardly plucking it up from the center of the table. Looking around, she feels her stomach flutter—she's just as out of place as she was twenty years ago. Nonetheless, she takes a breath and peels back the paper covering the adhesive on the nametag—in high school, she'd never been willing to let anyone see how uncomfortable she was, she wasn't about to ruin the facade now.

Regina steps into the gym, scanning the crowd of vaguely familiar faces, eventually settling on an arch made from blue and yellow balloons—the school colors—and momentarily she's catapulted back to tenth grade, remembering how she used to sit on the patio, reading with her feet curled beneath her as she listened The La's on her Walkman and sketched in her notebook, as her peers built floats for homecoming next door at Mary Margaret Blanchard's house.

Walking slowly around the perimeter of the gym, she thought of her senior prom. She's attended because her mother made her. Her best friend, Mallory Drake, had been her date, and they sat at a little table in the corner, drinking spiked punch and making fun of all the other girls as they nervously wrung their hands waiting for the Prom Queen to be announced—and fake smiling through tears when Mary Margaret's name was called instead of theirs.

"Regina Mills."

She stops and her shoulders tense. She hadn't anticipated being recognized—after all, the last time anyone in this room saw her, she'd had purple hair, wore black lipstick and too much heavy eyeliner.

"Wow, you, uh… grew up."

And then she notices the soft British accent and the awkward little laugh—and immediately, she relaxes.

"Robin Locksley," she says, turning to face him. "It's… been awhile."

"Twenty years."

She motions to the banner. "Apparently."

"Doesn't feel like it, does it?"

She shakes her head, remembering the last time she saw him—their soccer team won the state championship their senior year, and the last game was after graduation. She went over and congratulated him after the game. He said he'd call her, offhandedly mentioning his family's annual barbecue coming up later that month, but then… well, she wasn't sure what happened, really.

He hadn't called.

Or maybe she's missed it.

Maybe she'd even ignored it.

After all, she was far too eager to leave high school behind her, ready to start the next chapter of her life.

But regardless, she can't help but remember the crush she had on him all those years ago—and she can't help but remember how absolutely oblivious he'd been about it.

They'd met on the first day of kindergarten. His mother dressed him up in a bow tie and her mother put her in a party dress. All the other kids wore Oshkosh overalls, t-shirts and corduroys, or little sundresses—but not them, and even at five years old, they knew to be embarrassed by their parents' decisions. As the other kids played at recess, she stood along the sidewalk, remembering the pointed way her mother had told her not to get her new white shoes dirty. Robin had come to stand beside her. None of the other kids wanted to play kickball with the kid wearing a sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows.

Eventually, Robin embraced it. He was a funny kid with a sweet, dimpled smile and that won him a lot of friends and got him out of trouble with the teachers, and by second grade, he was everyone's friend.

Even hers.

Even if she was the quiet, weird girl who always looked like she was going to a tea party with her frilly dresses and ruffled socks.

She's not sure when the crush developed—probably that day in Kindergarten when he stood next to her on the sidewalk—but she remembers being aware of it in ninth grade and by then, every other girl in their class was crushing on him, too.

"I'm surprised you're here."

"I am, too," she says, a little laugh rising in her voice. "And yet…"

"Yet here you are."

He smiles when he says that—and she feels a little flutter in her stomach. Damn him.

"So, how did you end up back here? Presumably, this is all against your will."

She laughs and bites at her lip. "Uh, I ran into Mary Margaret Blanchard in the produce section at the grocery store and… well, agreeing to come seemed like a good way to shut her up."

"Do you still think that?"

Regina shrugs. "The jury's still out. We'll see how painful tonight ends up being"

Robin smiles again—he looks so amused. "But I actually meant how did you end up back in Storybrooke? I seem to remember you saying once upon a time that you'd rather die than spend even just one more day here."

She cringes. She remembers saying that. She'd said it after a fight with her mother—she'd stormed off and didn't know where to go. Mal and her family were spending a week at her grandparent's cabin in Vermont, so she'd ended up at Robin's. They sat in his old tree house for hours as she complained, eating Oreo cookies and sipping on a wine cooler. His mother invited her to stay for dinner. She made pasta and a big salad, and a strawberry trifle for dessert. After dinner she watched an episode of The Nanny with his family, and fell asleep. When she awoke her father was there to pick her up. He'd driven all the way to Storybrooke from Portland. He hadn't taken her back to her mother's until the following day. They got a room above Granny's Diner and picked up a newspaper, and he told her to pick the apartments she thought would suit him. She did, and she was glad for his decision to move back, but truly what she'd wanted was for him to take her back to Portland—to take her away from Storybrooke, away from her mother.

"Oh… well… that's a long story, and the jury's still out whether or not that's still true, too."

Again he smiles, and this time, it reaches his eyes—aside from her son and her father, she can't remember the last time someone seemed so genuinely glad to see her. "Well, even if you're not happy about being here, I'm glad that you are."

She feels her cheeks warm—and she hates herself for it, hates that his smile still has this effect on her, after all these years.

"Punch?"

"Hm?"

She blinks. She wasn't listening—and he knows it, judging by his coy little grin.

"Would you like some punch?" He takes a half step in and his voice drops an octave. "I feel like it'll make this whole affair a bit more tolerable."

Regina's eyes narrow and she laughs. "Did you spike the punch again?"

At that, he feigns innocence, gasping and clutching at his chest as though wounded. "How dare you make such an accusation."

Her brow cocks and she holds his gaze for a moment. "So, it wasn't you who dumped a bottle of Smirnoff Ice into the punch bowl at our junior prom?"

"Oh, no, it was," he admits, his shoulder straightening up—she's not sure if it's with indignation or pride. "But I've learned not to waste perfectly good alcohol on people who won't appreciate it."

He's talking about Mary Margaret Blanchard who spent twenty minutes crying in the bathroom about how prom was ruined over the spiked drinks, but she doesn't bring that up. Instead, she decides to take a jab at him.

"Well, you haven't learned much if you're calling Smirnoff good liquor, but—"

Robin laughs out in a burst, and again, her stomach flutters as he grins at her, his blue eyes sparkling. "You always were a snob."

"I wasn't."

"Oh, you absolutely were! You and…" His voice trails off as his eyes narrow. "Your friend. The blonde who was always high. Uh…"

"Mal, and she wasn't always high." She considers that for a moment. "At least, I don't think she was."

"Yeah. Her. I was afraid of her."

Now, it's her turn to laugh—Mallory Drake would never hurt a fly, a flower child born twenty years too late. "Seriously? I thought I was the scary one."

"No, not to me, anyway. Even with your chunky purple streaks, spiky necklaces, and that death glare you mastered, you were always the little girl in the pink party dress to me. It was impossible to be afraid of you."

She hates that that line makes her blush, so she looks away, her eyes settling on the punch bowl. "Is it Mary Margaret's signature sherbert and 7-Up?"

"Only one way to find out."

Together, she and Robin make their way to the punch bowl. She catches the eye of a few former classmates, but none who she recognizes and none who seem to recognize her. Robin pours her a cup and hands it to her, then pours another for himself. She takes a sip. It's sherbert and 7-up,but before she can comment on it, Robin reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a little flask, uncapping it and pouring a little into his drink, then a little into hers.

"Don't worry. It's not Smirnoff," he tells her as he screws the cap back on.

"You just… carry that around with you?"

"For special occasions."

Her brow cocks. "Special is one way of describing tonight."

He grins. "The jury's still out on that one."

She takes a sip of her newly-spiked punch and looks around the gym, and she spots Mary Margaret and a gaggle of giggly women making their way to the stage.

"Something tells me I am going to hate whatever's about to happen."

Robin follows her gaze. "The invite said something about games."

"With graduation pictures," Regina says. "I didn't submit one. Purposely."

"You think that matters? The second you agreed to come tonight, she Facebook stalked you."

"I don't have a Facebook."

"No, but you have a LinkedIn… I'm sure."

Her head tilts. "You've seen my LinkedIn profile? You've searched for me on LinkedIn, of all things?"

Robin shrugs and takes a short sip of his punch. "I've… occasionally wondered what happened to you, and you apparently don't do social media. So, yes. I resorted to LinkedIn."

"You wondered about me?"

"Is that so surprising? You were my best friend since the age of five, Regina. Then you just… dropped off the face of the earth."

Her shoulders square and suddenly she feels flustered. "We all went our separate ways after high school."

"Not all of us."

Still flustered, she looks away from him, focusing on Mary Margaret and her friends on the stage—and once more she finds herself conjuring a memory of that very group of girls holding hands and praying that their name would be called for homecoming court.

"Hey," Robin cuts in, drawing back into the present. "Why don't we… go explore."

"Explore?"

"Unless you want to stay for this enthralling game of Guess Who?"

A smirk edges over her lips. "Do you still pick locks?"

Robin beams. "It's been awhile since I've done it, but… it's like riding a bike."

He says no more. Instead, he grabs her hand and tugs her toward the exit, away from the gym and down the corridor that leads to the classrooms—an area that's supposed to be off limits.

"What if they have alarms?"

"They don't."

"How do you know?"

"You remember John?"

It takes a moment to jog her memory, but she nods, remembering a burly boy with long, wavy brown hair. "He was the goalie on the soccer team. He lived across the street from you."

"Yeah. Well, he teaches here. Finds kids making out in unlocked rooms after hours whenever he stays late to catch up on grades or when he's closing up the locker room after practice. Definitely no alarms."

By the time he's done with the explanation, the gate springs open and Robin is over the threshold, holding out his hand.

"Shall we?"

Regina hesitates for a moment, then takes his hand, allowing him to tug her to the other side of the corridor. For a moment, they both just stand there as if wondering where to go and what to do next, as if paralyzed by all the possibilities.

"You know, there's still a drawing of yours in the art case."

Her eyes widen—she's not sure if she should feel proud or horrified. "No way."

"That piece that won first place at the art show junior year. It's still there."

"Sophomore year," she corrects. She vividly remembers that drawing—it was a self portrait made up of broken shards of glass. Her art teacher thought it was brilliant, but truthfully, she'd only done it because she couldn't stand the thought of drawing herself. Back then, she'd barely stomached looking in the mirror. "How about we go to the chem lab instead?"

Robin shrugs. "Ah, your other passion—and according to your LinkedIn profile, the line of work you're interested in."

"Interested in, but not employed in."

He looks over at her as they walk toward the science hallway. "Oh?"

"There's… not much more to say."

"Alright," he murmurs as they round a corner. "So, aside from not having a job related to chemistry, what have you been up to for the last two decades?"

"I could ask you the same," she says, looking pointedly at him as she tries to deflect—immediately she feels a pang of guilt. "I just… we both have a lot of gaps to fill in."

"You aren't wrong," he says as they start down the hall where the science classrooms are. "Hey! Do you remember taking Bio in here?"

She watches as he points to the first room—and almost immediately she can see the two of them standing at a lab table, a clear plastic tray holding a dead frog in it. "I seem to member very clearly that you threw up in the trash can in that class."

Robin grimaces. "I wish I could forget that."

"Me too, honestly," she says, scrunching her nose. "I also remember you got to go down to the nurse and I had to dissect that frog on my own."

"Which I remember you were excited about."

"I'm not sure excited is the right word, but back then, I wanted to be a doctor. I was into that kind of thing."

"I had to miss soccer practice, I was so sick."

They keep walking, eventually stopping at the chemistry room at the opposite end of the hall.

"Want to go in?

"Robin. We can't."

"Why not?"

"It's breaking and entering—"

"So is what we're doing now, if you want to get technical about it."

Her eyes roll. "That's someone's classroom. It's their personal space. This is… different."

Robin only stares at her—and she audibly sighs as he reaches for the door handle, and then, the door opens, surprising them both.

"Looks like someone wasn't trying too hard to keep us out."

"Robin, it's still—"

He doesn't wait for her to finish, instead disappearing into the Chemistry classroom, his silence daring her to follow.

So, of course, against her better judgment, she does—and as soon as she's inside, she feels the same comfort she felt in this room twenty-some-odd years before.

She was never able to explain it. It was something about how tedious it was, how it pulled her attention, how logical it was, no matter how complicated it seemed.

Regina wanders around the classroom, her finger trailing along the edge of beakers and over plastic molecule models, and all the while she can feel Robin's eyes on her, watching her as she explores. From the corner of her eye, she can see him grinning at her.

"Do you remember that time you had to tutor Mary Margaret?"

"One time? It was a whole semester."

Robin laughs. "Right. Well, anyway—what a weird combo."

"I just remember you two sitting in the library one day before school. She was wearing a bubble gum pink sweater and holding one of those feather pens that people used because the girl from Clueless used them."

"She had one of those damn pens for every outfit."

"I was lucky if I even had a pen."

Regina grins. "I'm half convinced my mother made me tutor her just so she had an excuse to screw her father—you know, while they were discussing her progress."

Robin's face scrunches. "I forgot about that."

"I wish I could."

"Did you ever tell Mary Margaret?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Regina shrugs. "Why ruin her perfect little world?"

"Isn't that why your parents split up?"

She considers that for a moment. There was a time she believed that, but she was older now, and wiser, and she could see how naive that was. With her own divorce under her belt, she now understood that it was never just one thing, but a million little things that led a couple to that point, and much like her own marriage, her parents' was doomed from the start. "I… think it was the final nail in the coffin. I wouldn't say it was the reason though."

Robin considers it and nods as he holds her gaze. "The Blanchards are still together, living in that big, old house."

"That's easy enough to believe. Even if Eva knew, I… I think she gets from the marriage what she wants. Not everyone wants or needs the fairytale."

At that, she has to look away—she and Robin Locksley might've been friends in high school, but that was a lifetime ago.

"Sometimes fairy tales aren't all they're cracked up to be."

Her brows jut up as she looks back to him—she hadn't expected that, and he sounds like he's speaking from personal experience.

"Are you married?" she asks.

"Uh, no… not, uh… not anymore."

Regina feels a wave of relief wash over her, followed by a rush of embarrassment. "So, you're a member of the Divorced Before Forty Club, too, huh?"

He looks down at his shoes, grimacing slightly. "No, not exactly. My wife, um… she died. Five years ago."

Regina's eyes sink closed as she leans back against one of the lab tables. "Oh my god. Robin. I am so sorry. I—"

"It's fine. You didn't know."

"But I shouldn't have assumed. I—"

"Really," he interjects.

"Can I… ask what happened?"

For a moment, he doesn't respond, then offers a half nod. "Cancer."

She didn't know his wife, but hearing that knocks the wind out of her. "How terrible."

"It was," he admits. "Our son was only thirteen months old when she died." Regina watches as a small smile tugs up from the corner of his mouth, and he crosses the room toward her, fishing his wallet out from his back pocket. "His name is Roland. He'll be seven in February."

"You have a son," she says, brightening as Robin leans back against the edge of the table beside her. "And he has a February birthday."

"His is on the fifth."

"We share a birthday week."

"You do," Robin nods, handing his wallet to her, a proud smile stretched over his lips. "That's his school picture from last year."

Regina looks down at the small photograph of an adorable little boy with big brown eyes, a mop of curly brown hair, and his father's dimpled smile. "Robin. He's adorable! Look at that smile!"

"And he knows it, too," Robin says, a hint of a laugh behind his words. "He's… all Marian."

Regina nods—she assumed that from the boy's dark features. But still, the boy's smile keeps drawing her eye. "Well, he isn't all her," she says gently. "His smile is exactly like yours."

Robin grins, and for a moment, he's quiet. She wonders if that didn't come out the way she intended, if that was the wrong thing to say. But then he laughs quietly. "He's stubborn like me, too. And sneaky."

"And I'm sure, just like you, he can wiggle out of any trouble he gets himself into."

Robin sighs and nods. "It's karma."

Handing him back his wallet, Regina reaches into her purse, pulling out her pocketbook. "I have a son, too," she tells him. "Henry. He's eleven now."

"You named him after your dad."

She nods. "And is so like him. It's uncanny."

"Genetics are funny like that."

"Well, not… exactly." She grins as Robin's brow furrows. "Henry's adopted."

"Oh!"

"Daniel and I have had him since he was seven months old." She grins as she looks down at her son's school picture. "We got really lucky with him."

Regina watches as Robin looks back to the picture, and she can see a hundred questions swirling around in his head—questions he likely doesn't feel comfortable asking, questions he fears are none of his business, questions she'll likely deflect, given the response she offered when he asked about her job history.

But Henry is the easiest part of her life to talk about.

Even if questions about Henry are far more personal than questions about her job.

"So, I guess it's true what they say, then," Robin says in a cautious voice. "Nurture is more important than nature."

"I like to think so," she replies, drawing in a short breath. "I don't know anything about his birth parents. But he's practically a clone of my father, personality-wise. He's quite popular at the Senior Center." At that, Robin laughs and she smiles. "My dad goes there on Saturday afternoons and plays checkers and shuffleboard." Her eyes roll and she sighs. "Henry finds it enthralling. He fits right in with the seventy-plus crowd."

"So, he spends a lot of time with your dad—"

"Well, we live with him, so he doesn't have much of a choice, but I'm glad that he enjoys it."

"Roland spends a lot of time with my folks, too," Robin says. "They spoil him."

"Is he their only grandkid?"

Robin nods, taking one last glimpse of Henry before handing her back her pocketbook. "First and only."

"Your sister doesn't have any kids?"

She regrets the question as soon as she asks it—she, of all people, should know better—but Robin looks unfazed.

"I'm sure she will eventually. She and her wife have been married for a few years now. They talk about it every now and then, but they're still in that newlywed phase. They're enjoying traveling and not being tied down."

Regina smiles softly. "I don't think Daniel and I really ever had that phase."

"No?"

She shakes her head. "We… loved each other for all the wrong reasons."

Regina watches as Robin's head tilts—he's curious, but it's not a nosy sort of curiosity. Instead, he just looks… interested. Like he cares. And it's nice to be able to talk to someone like this without judgement, and without an appointment. So, she continues.

"He wanted to save me and I wanted to be saved." She shrugs, allowing her eyes to meet his. "And once we got past that, we didn't have much else."

"I'm sorry."

"I am, too, sometimes. He and I wasted so much of each other's time."

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulls out the flask. "Want a sip?"

Grinning, she nods and takes it, tossing back a quick swig. "Bourbon."

"Yes."

"Definitely a trade up from the Smirnoff."

He laughs. "I like to think so."

Looking down at the flask, she notices the logo—a lion in a shield with the words "Merry Men" etched above it and "Distillery" below it—and looks back at him curiously. "That looks like the tattoo your dad had."

"He still has it," he tells her, a chuckle behind his words and he pushes up his sleeve. "And I do, too." He grins as he looks back at her. "My mother called it a mid-life crisis, but he pulled his retirement and we opened up a distillery when I graduated college. I'll admit, it was probably dumb at the time, but it's starting to do well. It's like… one of those places you go for wine-tasting, but for whiskey."

She grins. "So, you work with your dad."

"John comes up on the weekends. My buddy, Will, also invested—you remember Will, right?"

Regina nods—he was on the soccer team, too. He had a reputation for getting benched for showing up to practice drunk, but it never lasted. He was far too talented on the field, so he got second-chance after second-chance after second-chance. And it didn't really matter that he blew each and every one of those chances. There were no real consequences for him. "I… seem to remember him falling asleep on a raft in the Blanchard's pool."

"After prom. I remember that."

"And I remember watching him sleep on a giant inflatable swan from my bedroom window."

Robin sighs. "Well, it won't surprise you, then, that not much has changed. He shows up to work about half the time."

"And you continue to employ him?"

Robin shrugs. "He's a good guy, even if he is a barely functional alcoholic."

"You're a good guy."

Immediately, her cheeks flush and her eyes press closed the second she looks away from him—did she really just say that?

"You know," Robin says, clearing his throat. "Maybe, uh, on one of those Saturdays when your son is playing shuffleboard with his geriatric buddies, you could… come up and see the place. It's pretty nice, if I do say so myself."

Her cheeks flush deeper and her stomach flutters.

"Oh, that would… be…"

Her voice trails off and Robin pushes away from the edge of the table. "Just think about it, alright?" Reaching out, he takes her hand and tugs her away from the table. "And while you're thinking about it, let's go do some more exploring, shall we?"

Regina smiles and nods, and lets him lead her out of the room.

Together they wander through the once-so-familiar halls, meandering with no real direction. The silence between them, she realizes, is comfortable, just as it would've been all those years before—and again, she feels that light flutter in her stomach and a barely-there flush rise into her cheeks, just as it might've all those years before.

She's not entirely sure when it was that she first started thinking about him in a way that was more than friendly—probably somewhere between their freshman and sophomore years—but she distinctly remembers struggling with what she should do with those feelings. She never told anyone, not even Mal, preferring to pine away in silence. Like other crushes, she was sure it would pass—and sometimes, she'd wondered if it was even that. Though, she'd never quite been able to label what that something else might be…

"Do you remember the first time we came here?"

Regina blinks, suddenly pulled back into the moment. "Um…"

They're standing in the commons area, which is a large space directly in front of the main entrance. Along one wall was the principal and assistant principals' offices, and along the other wall are the counseloroffices. Each of the main halls shot off of it, the math and science wing going in one direction, English and history in another, and so on. There was nothing particularly interesting about this area, and though she walked through it a thousand times as a student, for the life of her, she couldn't think of a single significant thing that happened there.

But judging by Robin's smirk, he did.

"Theatre camp. Seventh grade…" Her eyes narrow as his voice trails off, as if those two details were supposed to be enough, as if his mother didn't make him go to theatre camp every year up until ninth grade and as if she didn't beg her mother to let her attend. "You really don't remember?"

"I… remember having bubble bangs in seventh grade."

"No. Bubble bangs were sixth grade," he tells her. "My parents have a picture in one of those big collage frames they have going up the stairs."

"Oh… great. I'm glad that particularly awful hairstyle has lived in infamy."

"It was better than that awful bleached blonde phase you went through in seventh grade."

Regina can't help but grimace. "God, that was awful."

"And you were so thrilled about it."

"I was less thrilled about the hair as I was about the reaction my mother had to it." She grins, a soft laugh bubbling out of her as she remembers the shock and horror on her mother's face when she first saw it. "She was so pissed."

"You're still thrilled about it."

Again, she laughs. "I guess I am."

"Amazing."

For a moment, neither says anything. They just stand there, staring at each other, their eyes locked—and once more, she feels that damn fluttering in her chest. Damn him.

"So, what happened here when we were in seventh grade?"

"You really don't remember?"

"Obviously not."

"You told me you wanted to slide down the hall in your socks."

She blinks. Still, there's no recollection of that memory, but he sounds so sure. "That… doesn't sound like me."

"We'd been here for hours. Rehearsing…" His voice trails off and this time, his eyes narrow. "Uh... well, whatever it was."

Peter Pan.

That she remembers.

She got cast as a Lost Boy and so did Robin, and she'd been both thrilled and mortified.

"We were on break and your feet hurt so you took off your shoes, and you said that if you weren't sure you'd be in trouble for it, you'd run as fast as you could and try to slide to the other end of the hallway in your socks."

Regina's eyes shift to the hallway, narrowing. "I don't remember that."

"I do, and you wanted to."

"Wanted, being the operative word."

"I dared you to."

"And I assume it's fair to say that I didn't take the dare."

"No, you said that you'd only do it if there was absolutely no one around." Regina looks back to him, watching as a coy little grin edges over his lips. "Well, there's absolutely no one around now."

"You are insane if you are implying we should… slide down the hall in our socks."

"Why?"

"I could ask you the same question. Why would you want to do that?"

"It'd be fun."

"Maybe in seventh grade…"

"Oh, come on. You have an opportunity to live out a childhood fantasy, how can you pass that up?"

Her arms fold. "A fantasy that I have no recollection of ever having?"

"Trust me."

Regina folds her arms, her head tipping slightly to the side. She's fully aware that she's looking at him in the same way that she looks at Henry whenever he wants to do something foolish.

"What? Are you still afraid of getting into trouble?"

Her shoulder stiffen. "No. I just don't want anyone rolling their eyes at me when they roll back the tapes Monday morning."

"No cameras, remember?"

He smirks at her, as if daring her—then without saying any more about it he kicks off his brown leather shoes and takes off running, and almost as soon as he hits the hall, he stops abruptly and slides, promptly coming to a halt after barely two feet.

"How pitiful," she says, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh.

Robin frowns, looking at the floor, then back to her. "Maybe I didn't have enough momentum. Come on. Try it with me!"

Laughing, she shakes her head, still firmly rooted in place.

Robin jogs back, flashes her that devilish little grin he has, then again takes off running—and this time, when he hits the tile, he slides halfway down the hall, and when he tries to stop himself, he wobbles, like a little kid walking on ice.

And again, it makes her laugh.

Her chest tightens, remembering the way he used to run down the soccer field after scoring a goal. Their senior year, the team went undefeated—and just as he'd done now, as the timer on the scoreboard ran down to zero. The bleachers erupted and their classmates poured down onto the field, giving high-fives to the players and running around as if the victory was theirs. She'd been one of the few who didn't rush to the field. Everyone probably assumed it was because she was too cool or didn't care about the win, but really, she was just too scared.

Their classmates all loved him—after all, Robin Locksley was impossible not to like—and at best, they were all indifferent to her. She wouldn't have fit in, celebrating on the field with everyone else, so she stayed in bleachers, smiling as she watched and fighting back her tears as some cheerleader (whose name she now couldn't even remember) ran up to Robin and kissed his cheek. He picked her up and swung her around, kissing her back, completely unaware that she was watching from the stands—but then again, even if he had noticed her, it wouldn't have mattered.

"It's fun, Regina. Try it! Live a little."

"Live a little," she repeats, cocking her brow. "I hardly think—"

She doesn't finish the sentence.

Robin jogs back to her and grabs her hands, still smiling devilishly as he tugs her forward, and when she resists, he lets go of her hands and pouts.

"If you think those puppy dogs eyes are going to work on me, you're sadly mistaken. Those don't even work when my son uses them on me." Indignantly, she tips up her chin. "Besides, I'm wearing heels."

"So, take them off," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "That little trick saved you from twisting your ankle when we were practicing for your...uh… cata…" His eyes narrow. "What was that thing your mother forced you to do where you had to dress up and pretend you lived in the nineteenth century?"

"A cotillion—which thankfully I got out of by bleaching my hair the night before."

"I was always kind of mad at you for that."

Her eyes widen. "Why?"

"Because I spent months doing those stupid dances with you for nothing."

She considers that. She'd made him practice with her to avoid having to practice with one of the vile sons of one of her mother's friends.

"You got the pleasure of my company."

"I got blisters on my feet," he counters. "So, really, you owe me this."

"You're impossible," she tells him, sighing as her eyes roll, vaguely remembering helping him once to ice his sore feet.

"I know."

"And annoying."

"I know."

"Some things never change."

"So, you'll do it?"

"I swear, Robin, if I twist my ankle and end up limping out of here…"

"I'm not going to let that happen."

Her eyes narrow, but she can't argue with that—of all people, he's the one person, aside from her father, who she adamantly believes would never intentionally hurt her.

Robin smirks as her resolve diminishes, and when she puts her hand in his, she lets out a little whimper and presses her eyes closed, letting him lead her.

She kicks off her heels, and when he tells her to run, she does; and similarly, the moment he yells stop, she does. Her eyes fly open and together, they go gliding down the hallway.

Robin's arm loops around her waist as they begin to slow, their legs wobbling and her heart skipping a beat. Her nylon-covered feet slip against the freshly waxed tile, and Robin's hold on her tightens—and as their eyes meet, a sweet and satisfied little grin tugs up at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't worry," he murmurs, "you're not going to fall."

She swallows hard. They're standing chest to chest. His arms are linked around her, resting low on her back. One of her hands is pressed to his chest and the other is… well… she's not sure what her other arm is doing. It's just sort of there, dumbly bent at the elbow like she's going to wave to someone that isn't there.

For a moment, she just stands there, letting him hold her, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter—he looks so pleased, so smug, and it makes her heartbeat just a little faster.

Biting down on her lip, she takes a step back—she wanted to kiss him just then, just like she'd wanted to do countless times in high school. But just like in high school, a kiss would have ruined everything.

"You know," she tells him. "I seem to remember that you didn't mind me not going to that cotillion."

"What?"

"You may have suffered through dancing with me but I vividly remember renting The Nightmare Before Christmas and bringing over a tub of ice cream. We sat in those bean bag chairs in your bedroom and ate the whole gallon of ice cream."

He blinks. "Oh, right. I, um… I do remember that."

She smirks. "We watched it three times."

Grinning, he nods. "You loved that movie."

"I still do."

"Maybe we could watch it together some time. You know, for old time's sake."

She stares at him, then nods. "Yeah, sure. Maybe one day we can."

Robin sighs and takes her hand, leading her back down the hall. When they reach the commons he plucks up her shoes first, then his own, and together they settle on a bench.

"So, was… gliding down the hall in your socks everything you dreamed it would be?"

Robin looks at her, then laughs. "You know, in some ways, it was."

"Good."

She slips on her shoes and stands up, peering down one of the other hallways. "Is the art room still down here?"

"It is," he says, rising up. "Want to take a peek?"

She nods. "I'm… sort of curious to see if it still looks the same."

"It does. Everything about this place does. It's like… it's cursed or something. Nothing ever changes here."

"Well, some things do—new students, new teachers, new…" She stops. "Wait, you said my art is still in the show case, right?"

"Point proven."

Her eyes roll and a little laugh escapes her—the building does look like time has stood still inside of it. When they reach the showcase outside of the art room, her drawing is still there, framed in the purple mat that she cut for it before the art show. Her mother had scoffed at the color—everyone else used black or white mats—but her father liked it, telling her that he liked that it matched her hair.

"Can I be honest with you?"

She looks back at him and nods, slightly taken aback.

"I never liked this drawing."

Immediately, she stiffens. "Oh."

"I mean, it's well done and you're talented but… it was supposed to be a self-portrait."

"It is a self-portrait," she tells him, pointing to the drawing in the showcase. "That's my face on those shards of glass."

"I know that, I just… never mind."

"No, you can't… you can't just say something like that."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything, he only sighs and looks back to the showcase. "You were… gorgeous, Regina. This just… it seemed like a cop out or something."

She swallows, not waiting to admit that the idea for this drawing came about after a fight with her mother that culminated in her bedroom mirror being smashed.

"Yeah. Sure. I was gorgeous in smudged black eyeliner and—"

"That was just make up. You were still gorgeous even if you did get up three hours before school to make it look like you'd stayed out partying all night."

"Maybe I was."

"You fell asleep before nine, every night."

"You don't know that."

His eyes roll. "Yes, I do. Every time you came over for dinner, you ended up falling asleep and if I ever called past nine, you mother would pick up and tell me off."

In truth, she'd never liked the drawing either—there was a reason it was still here in the showcase, and that reason was that she never came to pick it up after the show. It reflected one of the most painful parts of her life, she didn't want yet another reminder of it. For a moment, she just stands there, staring at the drawing—looking at each of the shards, remembering the way her art teacher went on and on and on about the detail of it, specifically pointing out the tears in her eyes and how subtle they were.

"I moved in with dad a couple weeks after the art show," she tells him.

"I remember," Robin tells her, a soft grin tugging across her lips. "You were thrilled that he let you paint your bedroom walls black."

"I think I was even more thrilled about the fact that he let me cover them in purple glitter."

"You loved that room."

She nods, remembering. "I did love it—now, I'm not so sure."

"Is it still painted that way?"

"Yes," she admits. "If I change it that means I'm acknowledging that it's a space I live in, not just one that I'm...well… temporarily staying in."

Robin's lips press together—he wants to laugh, but he doesn't. And truly, if her situation wasn't so damn sad and disappointing, it would be funny.

"I, uh… I lost my job," she tells him. "Right around the same time that Daniel and I split up, and… I was floundering, so I came back here."

"That makes sense. It's the smart thing to do."

"I still don't know about that, but as you likely know from stalking my LinkedIn profile, I'm over qualified for every job that seems to pop up, and under qualified for all of the jobs I really want." She bites down on her lip. "When you brought it up earlier, I kind snapped at you and… that was undeserved. It's just… it's kind of a sore spot."

"Have you considered going back to school?"

She nods. "Yes, but I have a ten-year-old and his college fund to think about."

"You could get a loan."

"Yeah, and have a mountain of debt by forty-five when I finally graduate."

"Sure, but… then you'd have a doctorate. You'd be Doctor Mills and—"

She smirks. "I'm not sure that's enough incentive at this point. I have a job. I hate everything about it, but not everyone loves what they do. Sometimes, a job is just a job."

She's glad that he doesn't interject with some speech about how much he loves what he does for a living or some rah-rah speech about never being too old to reach for your dreams. Instead, he reaches into his inner coat pocket and pulls out his flask, uncapping it and taking a quick swig before handing it over to her.

"Let's keep exploring, shall we?"

She nods and gulps down a mouthful of whiskey before handing back the flask, fully expecting him to tuck it back into his pocket. But he doesn't do that. Instead, he just holds onto it, every now and then taking a sip and offering her another as they wind through the halls, talking and sharing memories—this time, they're both careful to avoid heavy topics.

They talk about the production of Grease they'd done their senior year. Regina hadn't ever been brave enough to try out for the play—being a Lost Boy in Peter Pan was the height of her career or on the stage—but by senior year, she was in charge of set design and everyone heaped on the praise when she and the rest of the stage crew managed to get the front end of a nineteen-fifty-something Chevy on stage.

Robin was never shy about anything, and by senior year no one was surprised when he landed the lead role of Danny Zuko. Mary Margaret played Sandy.

The play was a huge success and the local newspaper raved about the sets and costumes, and of course, Mary Margaret's vocals. They made no mention of the hideous blonde wig or how it made her skin look pink—much to Regina's chagrin.

To celebrate, she threw a party on the night of the final performance—amazingly her parents just happened to be out of town that Saturday—and everyone was invited.

Of course, Regina didn't go, claiming she had a headache.

Which wasn't entirely untrue.

She'd had cramps. But that wasn't something she was willing to announce to Mary Margaret and her giggling posse. So, after the last production, she'd snuck out five minutes before the end to avoid traffic. And within an hour, she was laying on her dad's couch with a hot water bag, flipping through the channels, looking for something good to watch.

Robin showed up an hour later with a full box of pizza he'd swiped from the party and a rented copy of Practical Magic. They reheated the pizza and watched the movie and spent the rest of the night debating if Sandra Bullock or Nicole Kidman was the hotter sister.

In the end, she and Sandra won. And then she fell asleep on his shoulder.

Of course, when she woke up the next morning that detail had been particularly mortifying, but Robin hadn't minded. He hadn't even seemed to notice, really.

For her, it was the best night of the entire year.

She doubted he remembered it as fondly.

"You know," he murmurs as they make their way back to the commons area, then toward the gym. "I was kind of dreading coming back here tonight."

"Were you?"

He nods. "Yeah, I mean… these kinds of things are usually all the same."

"I wouldn't know," she murmurs, looking over her shoulder at him.

"But I am really glad that I came. I'm glad that I got to see you."

"This was… a lot better than anticipated, I'll admit that."

"We should, uh… try to see each other a little more frequently than every twenty years."

Grinning, she nods. "Maybe we could shoot for once a decade."

There's a pause and then he nods. "Exactly my thoughts."

"Oh, hey…" she murmurs. "I'm not the only one who lives in infamy in these hallowed halls."

"Hm?"

"You—there," she says, pointing to a picture of Robin and the rest of the soccer team, celebrating after their State Championship. Leaning in, she scrunches her nose, scanning the rest of the photo for familiar faces, and as her eyes draw back to Robin he sees Ella, Robin's at-the-time girlfriend, pressed into his side.

God, how she hated her and her head-to-toe Hollister wardrobe.

"And of course, Ella is right there."

Robin's brow arches—and it's only when he looks at her, she realizes she said the last bit aloud.

Her face flushes.

"You never liked her."

"No," she murmurs. "She just wasn't…" Her voice trails off as a familiar prickling sensation rises up the back of her neck. "It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"Why? It was twenty years ago."

"I just never understood it."

"There isn't anything to understand, Robin. She and I were just… very different."

"You and I were different. We were still friends."

Bristling, she shrugs. "I just… didn't like her. Besides, I was the troll in the art room and—"

"They called you the Evil Queen."

For a moment, she just stares at him—almost blankly. "What?"

"No one thought of you as a troll. But they did call you an Evil Queen."

"And what did you say?"

He turns pink. "I… thought you'd actually like the moniker."

Her shoulders stiffen—and then she laughs. "I do, actually. Kind of. In a weird way."

She watches as relief washes over him—and for a half second, she thinks they'd might've moved past his question about Ella.

"But really," he says. "It always bothered me when you didn't like the girls I dated."

Regina takes a breath, her eyes narrowing and her stomach fluttering. "Okay. Fine. I didn't like her because she wasn't good enough for you. She was dumb. She was one of those girls who liked being dumb." Biting down on her lip, she watches him, waiting for his reaction, but he offers none. "But… maybe you liked that kind of thing back then."

"But you didn't like any of the girls I dated. You might not have been wrong about Ella, but—"

"I was jealous."

As soon as the words leave her lips, she regrets letting them out. Sucking in a breath, she turns away from him looking back to the photo—it's like she's seventeen again.

"What?"

"Robin—"

"Why would you have been jealous?"

"It was twenty years ago. It doesn't—"

"Look," he cuts in. "I've spent twenty years trying to figure out what I did to lose your friendship. You just… disappeared and I missed you. You were a constant in my life since I was five years old and then you were just gone."

"Robin, you didn't do—"

"I had to have done something."

"No," she sighs. "I was just…" Finally, she turns and looks back at him. "I just wanted to be done here. I wanted to start over. I wanted to be anyone other than who I was." Taking a breath, she shakes her head. "I mean it sincerely when I say that it wasn't you, it was me."

"But—" His voice halts abruptly as he stares at her, his eyes narrowing like he's sizing her up, and in spite of herself, her face flushes with warmth. "Regina, did you…"

"Have a crush on you? Yes. I did."

Her eyes sink closed and she sighs, ready to launch into a speech about how none of that matters because it was all so long ago—and up until just a few hours before, she would've truly meant that.

And then, she came here and saw him, and... all those feelings she thought were behind her came roaring back, strong as ever, as if they'd never left her in the first place.

"I… don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Robin. It was a long time ago."

"I know, but…"

"But nothing," she interjects. "It's water under the bridge now."

"Why didn't you ever say something?"

"Half the time I was blown away by the fact that you were even my friend."

At that, he looks horrified.

"You were popular. Everyone loved you. Dating me would've been like social suicide for you. I was partially convinced we were only friends because it was habit for you."

"A habit—" He nearly gasps. "Regina, that's ridiculous."

"I know, but…" A little laugh bubbles out of her. "It was so long ago. There's no reason to get upset about it now."

"But…"

"Robin. Let it go." Her shoulders square indignantly. "I did."

And that isn't fully a lie.

She might still have feelings for him—though she wasn't entirely convinced that was what she was feeling now, it could very well just be nostalgia—but she had forgiven him, if there had even ever been anything to forgive. At the time, she'd occasionally allow herself to feel hurt that he didn't reciprocate the feelings she had for him, that he didn't even notice she had feelings for him.

"It was prom, wasn't it? Senior year. That's what happened."

"What?"

"The reason you just… dropped out of my life."

"No, I told you—"

"I know, but that's when things changed. You… started to pull back."

That part was true enough—he'd asked her to prom because he didn't have a date, and then two weeks before prom, he and Ella started dating. So, of course, it hadn't been a surprise that he wanted to take her to the prom instead. Regina thought she'd been gracious about it, pretending to be relieved not to have to go to their senior prom and she joked that she was glad she didn't have to spend a bunch of money on a dress she'd never wear again (as if she hadn't already bought one). He'd kissed her cheek and ran off to go find Ella, and she'd gone into the bathroom and cried.

She hated herself for that.

"Robin, again, it was twenty years ago—"

"And I'm just finding out about this now."

"Dating me would've been like you dating John."

He blinks. "No, you were way cuter."

She laughs softly. "But he would've been such low maintenance. I was needy as hell. My cuteness would've been a trade off." Taking a step in, she forces a smile. "You'd have been way better off dating John."

Robin smiles, but it fades—he's still thinking about it.

"Do you want to go back in and get more punch?"

He blinks. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure."

They make it to the punch bowl without him mentioning anything about her crush—and once more, she feels hopeful that he just might drop it.

He pours two cups of punch, then pulls out his flash, his brow arching at her as he pours a little into his own cup as if to ask her if she'd like a splash of whiskey, too—and when she holds out her cup, he grins.

"There are… significantly less people in here than there were before our little adventure."

"That's true," he says, nodding as he looks around. "But then again, for most of these people, a high school reunion happens whenever they go to the diner or the grocery store. Most of them see each other every day, in one way or another."

Regina nods. "I've done well avoiding that since coming back," she admits. "With the exception of that day in the produce section."

Robin grins. "Well, I'm certainly glad that you and Mary Margaret both needed apples on the same day."

Her eyes narrow. "How did you know we were both picking out apples?"

"Lucky guess," he tells her, his eyes sparking as he looks at her over the rim of his plastic punch-filled up. "You love apples. Of course that's what you were getting from the produce section."

She grins. In third grade, he started bringing them for her in his lunch. Her mother never paid attention to the things she liked—sometimes, she got apple slices, other times it was baby carrots or celery sticks or a cup of cut up peaches. But she only ever ate the apples. So, he told his mom, then every day from third grade onward, he brought her apples.

"Regina, do you—"

"I'm so glad that you two wandered back!" Mary Margaret calls out, interrupting him as she jogs toward them, her camera in-hand. "I didn't get a picture of either of you before!"

"Oh, I don't—"

"Regina," she cuts in. "It's for the class newsletter."

Regina blinks. She had no idea that there was a class newsletter—and when her brows jut up, Robin laughs, then nonetheless slips his arm around her waist, drawing her in and hugging her into her side.

She hates that her breath catches and she hates that that alone makes her smile.

"I swear, I hate her as much as I hated her in high school," Regina murmurs as they pull apart, her eyes following Mary Margaret as she flutters across the gym.

"You don't hate her and you never did. You just find her annoying."

She sighs. "Maybe."

"Things seem to be, uh… wrapping up."

Regina nods as she looks back to him. "All good things have to come to an end eventually."

At that, Robin's eyes narrow. "Not all good things."

"It's an expression."

"I know that. I just… I see no reason our night has to end just because this little reunion is wrapping up."

"Oh, well—"

"Let's go have a drink."

"Robin—"

"My kid is with my parents for the night. He's probably already sleeping, and I'm assuming that your son is with your dad, too."

"He is," she confirms, biting down on her lip. "But—"

"Listen, before you say no, can I at least…" He pauses, laughing a bit awkwardly as he rubs his hand against the back of his neck. "Can I plead my case? You can shoot me down after, if you want, but… I just… I need to say this."

Drawing in a breath, she nods. "Okay."

"Teenage boys are assholes. Even the nice ones. Even the well-meaning ones. They just fuck everything up. The testosterone just... screws up their brain chemistry or something, and they don't even realize it until years go by and… they realize they tossed away one of the best things they had in their life."

Regina bites down on her lip. "And are you about to tell me that's what happened tonight? Because nostalgia is a—"

"No," he says, cutting in and shaking his head. "I realized it long before tonight."

"Oh—"

"When Marian and I were dating, she asked me if I'd ever been in love before, and without even thinking about it, I said yes and… was just flooded with thoughts of you and it was then that I realized whatever it was that happened between us was likely my fault. Tonight just confirmed that for me."

"Robin—"

"I had a really good time with you tonight, Regina, and I felt things tonight that I didn't know that I could still feel…" Robin's voice trails off and even in the dim like of the gymnasium, she can see that he's blushing. "I was in love with you and I didn't even realize it, and… I've spent years wondering what might've happened if I hadn't been a teenage asshole."

She smiles—she can't help it—as Robin draws in a breath. For a moment, it's all that she can do. But he isn't the only one with regrets—there have been countless times over the years she wishes she could've been braver, could've stood up for herself, could've admitted what she wanted. And he isn't the only one who felt things tonight.

She's trembling as she takes a step toward him, her heart pounding as she takes another, inching closer and closer until the small gap between them is nearly closed—and as she stands there in front of him, she dares herself not to overthink it.

Robin takes a step in, too. She can feel his breath on her lips and she draws in another breath, hesitating as she suddenly becomes aware of how many people are standing in the gym with them, likely staring at them—but instead of pulling away, she just stops thinking about it.

Regina's hand slides over his stubbly cheek and into his hair as she pulls him to her, their eyes meeting momentarily as his hand slips around her waist, somehow, tugging her even closer.

She kisses him.

Or maybe he kisses her.

She isn't sure—her head is spinning.

But regardless of whomever kissed who, there's a kiss and it sends a jolt through her, leaving her skin warm and her fingertips tingly. Her ears are practically ringing as the voice inside her head screams—but as they pull away from one another, and he offers an adorably sheepish grin, she finds that she can't be bothered by it.

"So, uh… does this mean you'll have that drink with me, after all?"

She holds her breath and nods as her hand finds his, their fingers lacing together as she takes a step backward, leading him toward the exit.


End file.
